“Somerled has given him only until the first day of spring to decide. The choice is, surrender everything or be wiped out. My uncle says he will never give up. I’m scared, Rona. This could be the end of the Folk. And…”
“And what?” asked Rona sharply.
“Nessa?” Eyvind, too, was watching closely from where he sat by the hearth, hands clasped together to keep them still. “Please tell me what you are saying. You look frightened. What is it?”
“Later,” she told him, and saw that look on his face again, like the sad expression of a faithful dog chastised for no good reason. Curse the man, why did he have to make her feel so guilty? “Rona,” she went on, “I can hardly bear to tell you, but I must. It seems to me that I can influence the course of events here, though my uncle does not wish it so. It weighs on me. Somerled asked…he said a part of the agreement would be that I marry him, and our son would be ruler of the islands after him. If we agreed to that, he would spare our people’s lives, though my uncle and Kinart would be exiled. Rona…” Nessa felt tears close and willed them back, “if I persuaded my uncle to agree to that, there would be no more killing. I could save the Folk, men, women and children. We have lost so many. The prospect chills me, for that man is not fit to lead anyone, he is not of the Folk, he can never understand what the islands are and what it means to be their guardian. But the other way is the end for our people. That’s why I must perform a Calling. Always, before, I’ve been able to tell which way is right: which path to follow. But this time, both choices feel terribly wrong.”
Rona shook her head and put her arm around Nessa’s shoulders, muttering something about bones and ash, and suddenly Nessa was crying. In her mind, she saw her mother’s empty eyes, and the broken bodies of Ramsbeck, and she heard Kinart’s furious vow of vengeance. Over it all, Somerled’s voice came with studied calm. In my vision for Hrossey, there is no place for you.
“Right, lass,” Rona said when Nessa’s sobs had subsided. “This is what we’re going to do. First, you sit down here and drink some more tea.” Eyvind was standing by the hearth, his blue eyes fixed on the distressed Nessa. Rona’s hands showed him what was required; he moved obediently to set the pot back on the fire, to find a bunch of dried mint, a crock of honey. It was clear to Nessa, watching his careful, methodical movements, that he and Rona had established an efficient way of talking with no words at all. Eyvind made no attempt to ask her what was wrong.
“Now do as I say, Nessa, and no arguments,” Rona instructed. “Tonight’s ritual will take every bit of strength you can summon. Drink the tea. Get warm, sit quiet for a while. Let me prepare the chamber for you—no, don’t interrupt—I’m not yet so ancient that I can’t go down there and set things out the way they should be. You’ve done it for me often enough over the years. While I’m gone, you must talk to the big fellow. I can see from that stubborn look on your face that you shy away from it, but you owe him that much for waiting around until you came back. He needs you to listen to what he has to say.”
“What if I talk to him, and he goes straight back to Somerled? The whole thing might be set up for that. It might all be some terrible game designed to trap us. I can’t trust this man. He killed Ara’s brother. He split Taran’s head in half with his axe.”
“I know that, child.”
Nessa stared at her. “How can you know?”
“We’ve had our ways of talking, and I can put two and two together as well as anyone. What he can’t tell me, I see in the fire. And it seems to me that I’ve seen what you refuse to recognize.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nessa retorted, watching as Eyvind poured water from the pot again, mouth set tight in concentration, willing his hands to stay under control. This time he was less successful; there was a small hiss as drops spilled on the hot coals, and she could see the trembling. Perhaps that was her fault.
“I’ve seen what you saw that first night, when you told me we needed to keep the big fellow safe,” Rona said. “You’ve forgotten that, in your anger at the blood spilled. But you were right. He’s part of this, Nessa. We need him. Now sit awhile and let him talk. Ask him about Somerled. That’s what’s going through his head.”
Nessa sat. When Eyvind put the cup in her hands, it seemed to her that he took particular care not to touch her. The tea was good. Rona was filling a bag with small items from the shelves and the storage baskets: bone and ash as she had said, herbs too, and other objects—secret things that Eyvind should not see. Rona was not going to go until Nessa started talking, that much was plain.
“Rona’s preparing what I need for tonight,” she began awkwardly. “She says I must talk to you. But I don’t know where to start.”
“How is your mother?” he asked. “Is her health improved?”
Nessa had not expected that, and did not guard her answer. “Still living, but…but she’s like an empty vessel, with nothing but sorrow left in it. She’s already gone away. I don’t think she will see the spring. She forgets to eat and drink; she forgets everything but the children she lost.”
“Children?”
“My two sisters; I was the youngest. They died when the sickness came, last summer.” She had not meant to tell him this.
“No wonder you weep,” he said quietly. “What of your father?”
“Killed in a war against the Caitt. I was very young. I don’t remember him.”
“Your father was a warrior, then?”
Too many questions. “Only to defend the islands. Not for the love of killing.”
Eyvind made no response. She had hurt him again, and instead of satisfaction, she felt only confusion. She must take control of this conversation, ask what she needed to ask, and let that be an end of it. She looked straight at him, summoning her will. His hair gleamed honey-dark in the firelight; his eyes were solemn. She could not tell what he was thinking. Nessa drew a deep breath, but Eyvind spoke first.
“It was a grievous blow for me, Thor’s silence,” he said. “Without you, I could not have survived it. Now, it seems to be your forgiveness I need, before I can begin to seek a new path. It’s all right. I do not expect you to give it, not after what I have done.”
Everything she would have said, everything she needed to ask fled from her mind. All she felt was the urge to put her arms around him, and weep again, and say that of course he was forgiven, and that she was sorry she had wounded him when he was already stricken. It was not like her to lose control so easily. She must not let this rule her.
“Tell me about Somerled,” she said severely.
Eyvind’s mouth tightened. “What about him? You spoke of…Somerled…before, to the old woman. Do you have news?”
“Some,” she replied cautiously. “He thinks you dead; he accused King Engus of hiding your body. He called you his dearest friend. How can such a man be your dearest friend, Eyvind?”
He hesitated. “Somerled is…he is a complicated man,” he said. “Determined. He takes what he wants, that’s the way he plays his games. We have been friends since childhood; I owe him loyalty, in accordance with that. I know he can be ruthless.”
“I met him,” Nessa said. “He came to my—to King Engus’ court. With a plan for peace.”
“He did?” Eyvind’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward eagerly, elbows on knees. “He told me he would do so, as Ulf wanted, but I confess I doubted his will to go through with it. Has an agreement been reached? Perhaps I can go back; relieve you of my presence. It’s plain I am no longer welcome here.”
“I’ll tell you,” Nessa said. “I’ll tell you what this man proposed, this great friend of yours. The bargain is simple. Engus forfeits the islands and the kingship, Somerled takes all. He’ll be chieftain of Hrossey. Yes, he even has a new name for this ancient land. He said, “There simply isn’t room for two leaders here.” Engus and his son go into exile with their warriors; the rest of us stay. And…”
“And what?” His face had gone white.
“And…no, no
thing.” She would not burden him with this, too. For one of his kind to befriend the king’s niece was perilous for both of them; tell him who she was and he would be gone by morning, she was sure of it. She could not tell him his dearest friend had marked her as the price of her people’s survival. In time he would have to learn this, but only when he was strong again. “He has given the king until spring to make up his mind,” she said. “If Engus says no, and he will, then it is outright war. If that happens, the Folk don’t stand a chance. This Somerled, he wants to be a great leader here, founder of a new age, I think.”
“He wants to be a king,” said Eyvind. There was a grim ring of old knowledge in his voice.
Rona had gone out; it would take her some time to prepare the secret chamber. It seemed to Nessa that in the soft crackle and hiss of the fire and the sigh of the wind around the cottage, there were whispering voices, an ancient story.
“Talk to me, Eyvind,” she said. “Tell me about Somerled.”
“It is…it is hard for me to speak of this. There is the promise we made to one another as children. It binds me to loyalty; it locks me into a silence that has become a denial of truth. Through every long day, through every dark night I see the same pictures, like the dream you spoke of, falling from a tree: so many pictures. I shrink from them, yet they pursue me. I think I can no longer pretend; I can no longer be blind to this. But I don’t know what to do. The truth is…it is unthinkable, Nessa. He is my brother. Closer than a brother.”
“Tell me, Eyvind. Tell me about the time when the two of you cut yourselves, and swore an oath of loyalty.”
“He was a strange child: wary, proud, very much alone. Ulf brought him to Hammarsby, and I was given the job of…of teaching him to be a boy, I suppose. I didn’t know what to make of him. He had been badly treated. His mother had died, his father had neglected him, and Ulf simply did not know what to do with him. So I—well, I did what I thought was right. Taught him to defend himself. Taught him to hunt, to skate, to swim. I never managed to teach him to enjoy those things, but he learned the skills; if he thinks he needs to master something, he applies himself with fierce dedication. Nobody liked him. He had no friends other than me. I was…sorry for him, I suppose. And I admired him; he was clever. He could do so many things I couldn’t.”
Nessa nodded. There was plenty she wanted to say, but she stayed quiet.
“That was the reason I did it. Swore the oath. He had heard he was going away. Despite himself, he had been happy at Hammarsby. I think it was the first time he had had a friend. How could I say no? So we did it. At first, it did not seem so very important; we were children. But I knew soon enough that the oath was binding. He saved my life; I saw in his eyes, then, that this pledge of loyalty was forever. It has bound me close to Somerled. It has bound me to…”
“To let things pass, when you should have acted on them?”
“I don’t think I can tell you. I don’t know much about the law, but I do know one should not accuse a man without evidence. I have had doubts, increasing doubts as time passed. There is nothing that can be proven. I am his one true friend. If I were to turn against him, he would again be quite alone. That is a terrible thing, Nessa, to be alone. I know that now. After the…after what happened at Ramsbeck, I wandered a long time in a place where nobody else could reach me. Until you came.”
“I have felt the same,” she whispered. “I miss my sisters so much, though when they were here I often thought they did not understand me. I miss my mother. I talk to her and she does not hear me. Eyvi, you must not rely on me. My people need me, they are in terrible danger. I cannot—I should not—”
“I understand. You still can’t trust me. That is no more than I deserve. I hoped…no, that is foolish. Do you have a comb?”
“What?”
“Your hair’s still wet. You’ll catch a chill if you spend the night down in that chamber with wet hair.”
He was telling her she looked a mess, just as Kinart might do. Nessa was annoyed to feel a blush rising to her cheeks. She fished in her bag, found the little bone comb with seals on it, and unfastened the damp ribbon on the end of her long plait. A pox on the man. How did he manage to make her feel like this, confused and upset and happy all at the same time? Was she not a wise woman?
“No,” he said, taking the comb from her hand. “I’ll do it. Practice for me. I’ve been trying to use my hands for different tasks. I even brought some driftwood up from the beach for the old woman. I cleaned the fish I caught. When I concentrate I can keep them almost steady. Sit still, now. That’s it.”
This was something mothers and sisters did, not some young warrior one hardly knew. Ridiculous man. He’d simply knelt down behind her and started drawing the comb through her wet hair without so much as a by-your-leave.
“Ouch!”
“I did say, sit still. Is that better?”
“Yes, but—”
“You can trust me to perform this small service, at least. I missed you, Nessa.”
“Soon enough I will be gone again. Eventually you will go back to him, to Somerled. It is not possible that we—that we…” The steady movement of the comb was soothing; it made her feel warm and content. She could not bring herself to tell him to stop, though this was entirely inappropriate. “You could be a spy,” she went on. “You are Somerled’s friend, after all. He could have sent you here, set the whole thing up to trap me. He could have been pretending when he said…when he said he thought you were dead.”
“Why would he want to trap you?” Eyvind asked as he kept up his steady work, teasing out the knots. “I understand that as a keeper of the mysteries you would have some influence over the king. But—”
“It’s a long story,” Nessa said. “Now answer me a question. Ulf came to the islands wanting peace; his men supported that. Some of them took up with our women. One even got married. And yet, as soon as Ulf died, everyone was following Somerled, who didn’t want a treaty at all. He’s made it clear enough he has no respect for the Folk; he doesn’t even want the islands, not really, all he wants is power and influence. And what Somerled wants, he takes. A man who, as a child, had no friends. Why didn’t you stand up to him? Why didn’t anyone? Couldn’t you see what he was doing was wrong?”
“I…” The movement of the comb stopped.
“Tell me, Eyvi.”
“Whether it was true or not, folk believed Ulf sought baptism as a Christian. If a chieftain takes such a step, it is not long before he expects his people to follow him. That disturbed folk; it made them afraid. When Somerled became chieftain, he confirmed his strong allegiance to the old gods, and it won him loyalty. And there were men who had become his inner circle, men whom he charmed by…by making himself into the sort of fellow they admired. Some folk might have spoken out against him, had not fear stopped their tongues. Many found no fault in his warlike aspirations here. In my home country, a leader who is strong and decisive, who cuts down enemies and seeks to expand his own influence is a man to be respected. But…there was one who did speak out. Hakon came to court, after the killings began. He refused to swear an oath of loyalty. He gave up his wolfskin.”
“And Hakon died.”
“Yes, but—”
“I told you, Eyvi. Our people do not burn men and women alive in their homes. We do not kill children.”
He was silent. She felt his hands against her neck for a moment, and then he put the comb down.
“What better way to command loyalty,” she said quietly, “than a graphic demonstration of what happens to those who disobey?”
“I think you know my puzzles as well as my dreams,” he said. “That is one. After we buried them, Hakon and his family, my brother Eirik went away. He told me he would stay at Hafnarvagr, something about nobody hearing much from him before the spring, because he wanted to get back safely to his woman and children in Rogaland. He told me there was danger all around me. I–I hid from the truth, Nessa. I convinced myself I did not understand those w
ords. But…”
“But?”
“Somerled was always fascinated by death and dying. When we caught creatures in snares he would not administer a merciful end; he liked to watch them go, slowly. When he heard that story, about Niall and Thora, all he wanted to know was…and yet, he has such ability. I know he is capable of great things, if only…if only he understood what it means to hurt. He plays his games with real men and women, and treats them the same as the little pieces carven in stone.”
Nessa nodded grimly. “Come, sit back here where I can see you,” she said. Now that her hair was unbraided, it would dry quickly before the fire. “That’s better. And thank you. I see there are at least three things you can do, besides fighting and killing. You can provide for a family, since you have not lost your hunting skills. Perhaps, as you said, you are not a clever man, not in the way Somerled is clever. But it is clear to me you are wise. That’s why it takes you so long to solve your puzzles, Eyvi. You must examine every possibility, weigh them up, before you reach a conclusion. Only a wise man does that. Only a wise man keeps silent lest he speak before he has fully considered a matter. No wonder the ancestors did not bar you from entering this domain.”
He was watching her intently. “And the third thing?” he asked softly.
“You know how to comb a woman’s hair,” she said dryly. “As you have no little sisters, I expect it was a woman who taught you that.”
Eyvind grinned, and was instantly solemn again. “Signe. It seems so long ago now. Her hair was fair as wheat, not dark like yours. Though yours glows red in the firelight, there’s a sheen on it like ripe chestnuts.”
“This Signe, she is your wife? Your sweetheart?” Curse her stupid tongue, why had she asked him that, as if it mattered the smallest bit to her?
“No,” he said gravely, “though it was not for want of asking, on my part. She is—was—friend and lover, a person of great kindness.”
“I see.” For some reason that made her feel no better. “So, she will be waiting for your return?”